Myron was the sort of
kid who preferred reading to sports. But he wanted to be liked and
respected, and he wanted a pretty girlfriend. Girlfriends kind of
scared him, but he couldn't help wondering. Everybody else seemed to
want it so bad, there must be some good to relationships.

"You wanna try the
booth?" The mousy girl asked him. "Lunch's almost over
now." She looked around the emptying food court. Myron had
waited until most of the crowds went away.

"Yeah," Myron
nodded. The mousy girl looked him up and down, nudging her glasses
farther up on her nose.

"I think we can
fit you in, before we have to close today," she said, sucking
her lips. "It's just a kissing booth, though, nothing else. If
you were, you know, hoping about that."

"Well... kissing's
nice, isn't it? Even just kissing, um..."

"Just so you
understand what you're paying for," The mousy girl said.

"Okay." Myron
handed her a quarter. "Here."

"Okay." The
mousy girl deposited the quarter in a metal lockbox next to the
chair. "Name?"

"Oh, uh, Myron
Solaro." He gulped. Even though the mousy girl had braces, and
glasses, and untidy brown hair, and a slightly bulging gut, Myron was
the sort of boy who feared and desired that, spontaneously, any
random girl who wasn't completely hideous might take a liking to him
and try to kiss him or otherwise show affection. He'd imagine the
first date, the second, the first year together, marriage, kids, the
whole timeline in moments. He did this with every girl he liked, and
he took a liking to almost every girl he set eyes on. Thus, he felt
an incredible loss whenever they turned him down, ignored him,
belittled him. Each time he felt he'd lost a lifetime together, a
wife, a companion. He felt himself falling into his usual pattern,
and he wanted a way to distract himself, so he talked.

"So, uh, what's
your name?" He asked. She looked up from her scribbling.